


We Have Attained The Light

by verulam (krynon)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drug Use, Hallucinations, M/M, Sex, Stream of Consciousness, Trans Junkrat, but theyre still inebriated so !!, college students, consent is given prior and then again whilst inebriated, possibly Dub-Con?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7790701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krynon/pseuds/verulam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat buys some drugs from his friendly neighbourhood dealer (and good friend) Amélie, and promptly proceeds to fuck his boyfriend under the influence.</p><p>***</p><p>A collection of fic about getting fucked in multiple senses of the word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Have Attained The Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is psychedelic and stream of consciousness, and has very explicit themes relating to drugs and drug use. If that makes you uncomfortable, I highly suggest you stop reading here.
> 
> Thanks to [ froggy ](http://froggyflan.tumblr.com) for the beta! It was a mess without their help.

“Have you ever tripped before?” asks Amelie. The answer, of course, is no. Surprisingly little access to drugs in the outback, really.

“Uh,” he says, and glances at Roadhog, who’s got raised eyebrows and a small frown on his face. “No.”

“And you know the risks?”

Amelie is a weird drug dealer, as far as Junkrat knows. The guys that Roadhog got his weed from were older, meaner, less… well. Amelie. Amelie was swish and sleek and perfectly preened, echoes of professionalism clinging to her every which way.

“Sure,” he assents, easily. Saying yes was one of his strong points, one of the things people (especially Roadhog) liked about him. That and his stunning charisma. College had taught him that saying “yes” was usually a good thing, and lead to good places.

Amelie extends a little bag of mushrooms, all clumped together.

“That’s two grams,” She says, polished voice ringing through the room. “Mates rates for the first trip only.”

Junkrat gawps at her. “ _What?_ I thought it’d be free! Amelie, c’mon!”

She frowns at him, then retracts the hand with the mushrooms still in it. “If you won’t pay, you won’t trip.”

He coughs. “What if it’s no fun?”

“Then you don’t buy again,” she returns, easily. “Simple. Plus, Mako’s your sitter,” she says, nodding at Roadhog. “You’ll be better than Gabriel’s first trip, for certain.”

In the end, Junkrat hands over his wodge of cash, and watches in despair as Amelie counts out every note, then gives him nothing back. At his stunned face, she smiles. It’s got a little dangerous glint to it, twisty and sharp at the edge.

“ _Chèr,_ if you wanted it to be cheap, you would be tripping on benadryl.”

 

***

 

“So Hog,” he says, easily. The little bag of mushrooms hasn’t left his hands since Amelie left, clutched to him like a life raft. “Still up for it?”

Roadhog frowns at him. “Jamie, are _you_?”

“Sure!”

And slowly, with a frown on his face, Roadhog says, “I want to hear you say you’re fine with it.”

“I’m fine with you fucking me while I’m high, yeah. Has that not been clear? I’m very much into the idea of you fuckin’ me whilst I trip balls-”

“I get it,” grumbles Roadhog. “Fine. If you’re sure…”

Junkrat squints at him, nose scrunched up. “Are you sure y’alright with this? You’re acting edgy, mate.”

Roadhog makes eye contact with him, and it’s oddly intense. For a moment, his skin is hotter than it should be, and he squirms. “You say yes a lot,” he says. “Wonderin’ if this is one o’ those moments when you’re fakin’ it.”

“Roadhog,” he says, summoning himself up to his full height and placing his hands tightly on Roadhog’s. “I’m not an idiot,”

“Right,” says Roadhog, apparently unconvinced. In itself, that was reasonably offensive.

“I’m _not,_ thanks, very rude of you. Not sure I wanna fuck you now-”

“Right,” says Roadhog, again.

“Okay, look.” Junkrat huffs. “I’m not gonna say it again. I want to trip and then have you fuck me into a new dimension. You up for it, or no?”

For another long, long second, they make eye contact.

 “Jamison,”

 “Yeah, Hoggie?”

 “Where’s the lube?”

 Junkrat punches the air.

 After that, eating them is the easy part. They use the bedroom, smallest (and least dangerous) room in the flat. They make a little cosy down on the floor, toss all of the pillows into a pile and then do an awful lot of making out. Junkrat’s turned on and he hasn’t even started yet.

 The little mushrooms get stuck in a sandwich. “This tastes like dick,” he groans, shoving the rest into his mouth and nearly choking on it. “ _Fuckin’_ hell, that’s _gross.”_

 Roadhog has the gall to _smile_ at him. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” Junkrat  says, through a mouthful of what tastes like _dirt._ “You won’t be laughin’ when I’m getting it on with cosmic beings and shit,”

 “Thought you’d be getting it on with me,” says Roadhog. He looks annoyingly smug, so Junkrat whacks him with a pillow.

 “Nice, Jamison,” he says, then _dares_ to ruffle his hair. Junkrat hits him with the pillow again, and he laughs. “Real nice.”

 “The cosmic beings are an allegory for your cosmic-level donger,” Junkrat giggles and swallows the last of it, infinitely satisfied when Roadhog cracks a wide smile. “Anyway, how come you don’t want to trip? You always seem into it when Widow and Reaper talk about it, an’ they never have anything bad to say about you.”

 Roadhog stares at him blankly, all the while shifting to accommodate Junkrat’s weight on top of him. “S’your first time,”

 “Oh, Roadie! You ol’ romantic, knew you had it in you-”

 Roadhog shoves Junkrat bodily off of him, and he lands with an oof on a huge pillow.

 “Not fair, not nice. This shit doesn’t paint you in a good light, you know, better watch it, I might shove _you_ off something one of these days-”

 “I mean it Rat, S’your first trip. Not letting you float off into some ‘other dimension’ by yourself. am I?”

 Junkrat grins brightly, flopping over on his back and sticking his prosthetics in the air. “Knew you cared.”

 Roadhog looks at him like it was a sure thing and Junkrat feels a sense of calm wash over him, soft like cotton balls or something just as easy.

 They watch cooking shows until the walls begin to melt.

 “Woah,” says Junkrat, flopping over onto Hog again. “That’s weird.”

 The walls continue to melt.

 The telly fades to buzzing in the background, soft and dim and lowly.

 “What’s weird?”

 “Walls,” answers Junkrat, because the walls were _melting_ and that was _cause_ for _concern._

 “...What about them?” Roadhog asks, slowly. It’s like he’s talking to a child, which Junkrat does _not_ appreciate.

 He frowns. “Melting. That’s the-”

 “Yeah,” Roadhog cuts him off, “That’ll be the ‘shrooms.” Roadhog softly places a hand on his head, letting Junkrat flop back and stare at the ceiling. Ceiling was interesting too, as ceilings went.

 Junkrat sticks a hand up in the air, watches a purple trail drag across it, and sighs.

 “Wow,” he says. “Not much, is it? Did you see how much Widow charged me? I got ripped off-”

 “Wait,” says Hog, and so Junkrat waits.

 

Pretty soon, he’s tripping balls.

 

Roadhog waves a hand in front of his face and smiles, and Junkrat can tell because the air is smiling, light all around him, breathing in and out, softly, one two one two, in and out-

 “Hey, Jamie,” Roadhog mumbles, through light-lips, and into light-air, “Y’feeling it?”

 “Yeah,” Junkrat breathes, and the walls expand around his words. He feels- there’s barely words for this, transcendent and echoing wildly about  open space.

He feels like glinting reflections and golden sun, twisting people in snakes and turns; His brain is not quite alight but it is something like it, smouldering embers and bright feelings.

Suddenly he is everything in multitudes, infinites and shining lights, like a feather built of fronds of photons, tapping on his shoulder and soon he’s swerving back and forth, soft behind him and softer to the side, a body, Roadhog, and he clings to him.

Transcendent doesn’t cover it, believers at his feet and metal in his chest. He is something bigger (finally!), music and gunpowder and diamonds in his bones. He thinks of bombs and practice practice practice, learning, anarchy and fire and brimstone, like a harbinger of war-

He’s smouldering, learning, twisting up and around for the broken patterns up and down his neurons and into his skull, it  burns clarity into his soul, and he is something beyond, he is astral, he is everything in multitudes and something _beyond._

He breathes soft and breathes slow, tutored slowly in how to create, inch by inch, dark beings clinging to the window panes, other, mighty and Herculean-

It is the off, the oddest, the strangest, tapping gently at his brain and asking for rent, but Junkrat doesn’t understand. How could he? Lonely and single without his multitudes, there is only earth and dirt and fire, learning and building and seeing things that disappear when he looks, being and knowing are separate entities and both of them want him dead. Learning is the hardest part, he thinks, knowing when to build and when to lose, watching the walls melt and-

It all comes crashing down (of course it does) it was never meant to last, (give him death and set him free) never. Prometheus died for the fire in his soul, tortured, and he takes his stubborn breaths, body behind and leaving this realm, but refused. It’s unallowed, not allowed, broken and ugly and confined to this body, confined to this earth and alone,

Allowing the quiet. Junkrat meets Roadhogs eyes and smiles. “Time to get dirty,” he slurs a little, words sloppy in his mouth.

“You sure?” asks Roadhog, and something in him looks godly, more than, beyond belief, like some titan, a Kronos, big and mighty and _nasty,_ but-

That wasn’t Roadhog. Junkrat looks again and the light is pure, colours melding into bright patterns about him, soft and sure.

“Hey big guy,” he says, and it comes out of his mouth as smoke, wispy and thin. “C’mon,” he says, and Roadhog immediately pats at his legs, spreading them and pulling his shorts down.

 “Y’into it?” asks Roadhog, voice rough as Junkrat spreads his legs and sees patterns in the room. There’s tessellation, trees and nature and beauty- “ _Rat,”_ Roadhog says, and Junkrat shakes his head briefly, clearing the fuzz from his thoughts

 “Yes,” he breathes, and the words cling to the air around him.

 Roadhog takes that as consent, which is good for Junkrat because soon Roadhog’s mouth is on him, lapping at him, sucking in the right places and dipping his tongue where he should. He licks up and down, focuses on that spot of pleasure, and Junkrat sees stars, stars in Roadhog’s eyes and in his mouth, heat on him warm and soft and sweet.

 It’s- holy _shit,_ he’s never felt like this before. This is new, this is _something._

 He gasps in a few breaths, revelling in how his lungs feel _bigger,_ more open, and then Roadhog does something _amazing_  with his tongue, and he melts into a puddle on the floor.

 He’s lost in something, toes curling and slowly spiraling down, a sycamore leaf, maybe, and he feels so- he’s in _touch,_ he can feel the way the motor oil clings to him, can feel the way he sometimes scares people with his twitchy words, and he can feel the way soot is combed through his hair as he runs his fingers through it.

 He is ultimate and abstract. He is that fire and brimstone he’d been thinking about, but Hog’s between his legs and anarchy was the _last_ thing on his mind. God knew why (he shudders as Roadhog hits the bundle of nerves again),  but suddenly he wishes there was a future that was less _anarchic,_ where they could settle down and have a kid and be happy, find their place in the universe, immanent goodness everywhere he looked, and-

 Junkrat gasps, mindlessly bucking his hips up and into Roadie’s face.

 Roadhog sucks at that bright spot, tongue curling as the patterns around him burn, and with a few tweaks at his nipples and a kiss, he’s coming, head thrown back and eyes rolled up in his head, yelling for more or for it to stop, he’s not sure, hot and desiring with neuron trails sprawling in his head, broken and splitting as he howls and begs and _breathes,_ heaving in air as his muscles jerk and his whole body shudders, again and again as Roadhog’s iron grip keeps his legs solid to the pillows, down and jerking and _fuck,_ this is- this is-

 Junkrat screeches and Roadhog just carries on. His cobwebs of thought screech to a halt, following his head movements slowly and haltingly, juddering frenetically with closed eyes and a crunched up face.

 Roadhog stops, and his whole body relaxes like it never has before.

 The walls melt, and Junkrat sighs.

 “That was good,” he mumbles, flopping back onto the pillows so he can stare at the ceiling some more. A tapestry of bright lights and colour, merging and falling and twisting, it’s soft and hazy to touch, and Junkrat does, metal fingers tracing invisible smokey patterns.

 Roadhog strips, and Junkrat watches in the corner of his eyes. He’s hard, and Junkrat, slow and loping, interrupted by wisps of bright fumes that are almost opaque, crawls on hands and knees towards him, over the lumpy nest they’d built.

Roadhog watches him, teeth jutting and eyes sharp and hot. Once again, Junkrat thinks of titans and something scary, built of terrified sighs and fronded fear. But it’s not that, and he looks again and it’s Roadhog, man of many talents, makes excellent french toast that Amelie loved,demands Junkrat operate coin grab machines to collect stuffed animals, and he’s got light all around him, almost a halo, warm and inviting, and Junkrat thinks, ‘Fuck yeah,’ and gets to work.

“Good,” says Roadhog, mouth quirked up at the edges. Something about the air is warmer as Junkrat gently lulls Roadhog’s cock into his mouth, sucking at the tip and laving his tongue over it, and-

The fuzz in his head doesn’t clear and as he shuts his eyes, laves, take him further in, swirls his tongue, there’s a feeling heavy in the air, heavy like the weight of the world is on his shoulders.

“Good,” says Roadhog, and Junkrat stares up at him with wide and blinking eyes. It stops in his head, sloppy like someone's shoved static into his brain, and he thinks, ‘hot’, and then sucks along a vein.

The vein changes shape a little as he looks at it, muscles of Roadhog's thick thighs jumping as he goes to work and licks.

He sucks and laves and covers as much as he can with the flat of his tongue. His head is spinning, a little, rife with thoughts about gods and monsters, nerves twanging and brain singing. He kisses the tip of Roadhog’s cock, delicate and sweet, then shoves the whole thing in his mouth as a choir sings “Gloria!” to him.

He gags, and the choir rears back in shock. He's got it all in, too, dick bulging and tapping gently at the back of his throat. Roadhog’s clearly trying not to thrust his hips forward, ever the gentleman, and he giggles, and-

 Another epiphany moment; it seems like a god is in the room. Junkrat could get used to this, he thinks, mouth busy and plastered over Roadhog's dick. His brain is a million miles away, tethered by the aftershocks of an orgasm that had lasted an age.

 Suddenly his mouth is _definitely_ big enough, his muscles go slack and his face goes weak. Roadie shoves his cock deeper, and when he grunts out a noise of pleasure, the whole room bleaches, black and white, and _hot,_ so _hot,_ this is something beyond, brain elsewhere and everywhere at once. A short shock, Roadhog’s shoved his face _into_ his cock, up to the base and _still_ pushing at his throat, eyes watering. He tries to speak, fails, and contents himself with humming. It’s a bright little tune, and in the air around them it hangs like gold dust.

 “ _Fuck,”_ grunts Roadhog; his big hands grab at the back of his head and _push_ him, pull him, wrench him on and off his dick. Junkrat swallows as he goes, sensitive flesh of his throat _rammed_ by cock, and it’s hot, so hot, Junkrat is in a sauna.

 Roadhog comes, abruptly, down his throat as his brain seeps with smugness and pleasure, excellent and calm, in and through his brain like some deity.

 “Thanks, Hog,” he manages, slurring.

 “Any time,” laughs Roadhog, and it’s almost a grating sound against the aura he can hear, wide and shining.

 As Roadhog counts this one as a good job, well done, Junkrat keeps tripping.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me [ here ](http://verulams.tumblr.com) or 


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